Kuroshitsuji and all characters © Yana Toboso and SquareEnix.

Chapter 10: My Boy Builds Coffins

Angelina had just settled down in the living room to read a bit before retiring to bed when she heard a soft knock from the doorway behind her. Marking her place with a finger and closing the book, she turned in her chair to face her guest. She already knew who was there before looking upon him: she had given him his own room in the house after all, and it was therefore expected that he make himself as comfortable as possible. He was her partner in crime, lover, and closest friend. There was no boundary between them.

She looked upon him, and allowed him to speak first. However, he said nothing, the characteristic shark-toothed smile that normally stretched across his face, absent. He was dressed in his reaper's uniform, his red hair behind his shoulders. His stance, and the way the soft light of the chair side lamp hit his upturned face was almost ominous and more than a little disturbing. She felt a tiny shiver shoot down her spine. Immediately, she became aware of the look of fright on her face, and she quickly made to rectify the situation. Closing her open jaw, she forced her eyes to soften.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, nonchalantly.

"They're on to us," he said, eerily. He spoke slowly, his tone low and heavily controlled.

She stared at him, her face once again betraying her fear. "Excuse me?"

Grell stepped through the doorway, and made his way to the chair across from her. Her eyes never left him, but he did not look at her again until he sat down.

"Before my shift this afternoon, I was called in to speak with the Regulatory Board of Collections. These are the reapers that oversee and regulate all collections activity."

Angelina gulped as inconspicuously as she could manage. "What happened?"

"They noticed a discrepancy in the death records. A soul was destroyed last night."

She wasn't sure where this conversation was heading, but it didn't sound like it was to a very good place. "What does that mean?" She blinked a few times and forced her expression to recompose once more.

"It means that the soul of that woman last night was neither collected nor removed from her body in any way. It's gone. Forever."

Had he forgotten to collect the soul? Angelina did not know anything about the reaper profession, but from what she had observed, he'd always been efficient when it came time for collection. "I'm sorry. I don't…"

He leapt to his feet and stood over her. "You've heard of ghosts, haven't you?"

"Yes…." She nodded, doing her best to appear unfazed by his current frightening presence.

"A ghost is what becomes of a soul that is separated from its body, but isn't collected for our records. It's a wandering soul that exists in this plane as either an active or passive energy. If your soul was extracted, but not collected by us, you would still exist, either as a spirit able to see and interact with the living, or an energy that replays its experiences over and over again. Depending on the severity or circumstances of your death, you would end up in one of these spirit states. Well, when a soul is destroyed, there is not even a ghost as a reminder of that person's existence on this earth. It is just gone. There is nothing left of that person's memories. The only thing that remains is an empty and rotting corpse."

"You didn't collect her soul." It was more a statement than a question. What did she care? This was a problem he had to deal with on his end. Why was he trying to scare her?

"That is what I am trying to explain to you, Miss Angelina!" She could feel the intensity of his anger, but also knew that he was doing his best to stifle his temper. Why was he so angry? Her confusion was now making her flustered as well. She wished he would stop beating around the fucking bush and tell her what the damn problem was already.

"You told me that reapers didn't care about whether the deaths came in the form of suicides, accidents, or murders. Is it because they've all been murders? I thought they didn't care about murderers."

"That is true, when the murderer is human."

"But I am human! What are you talking about? Stop tip-toeing around the subject and spit it out already!"

Grell leaned down swiftly, grabbing the back of the chair on either side of her head. She could smell his breath, and it reeked of roses.

"I killed her, Miss Angelina."

She blinked a couple times, too stunned to respond immediately. "No you didn't, I did."

"You don't remember either, do you?"

She tried hard to recount the events of the previous night. She remembered running into Grell some time on her way home from work. She remembered chasing the woman down, the smell of roses. The warmth of her body pressed against his as he kneeled over the woman, the blood on his face, the glint of the knife, the scarlet liquid that seeped from the wound it had caused. Was it his hand holding the knife or her own? Try as she might, she couldn't remember.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes."

"How can you be? Aren't there other reapers? Maybe it was another reaper's fault and they missed their client."

He scoffed, and removed his face from hers. "Reaper's don't 'miss' their clients. Besides, I am assigned to that district, and only one other reaper is assigned to be there, ever, and that is only during the time I am off duty. I was on duty, therefore making it my problem and by extension yours."

She could feel bile rising in the back of her throat. "What? How is it my problem? I thought the other reapers didn't know about me."

"They don't."

"Then how would it be my fault if you get in trouble with the authorities on your end? I am not forcing you to do any of this, you know. You're the one who wanted to do this. You wanted to help me!"

"I am aware of that, Miss Angelina. But you know too much. Don't put it past me to silence you if I feel that events are not transpiring in my favor."

She gasped in shock, finally lost for words to continue this conversation. She wanted to spit she was so angry. Did he have any idea with whom he was dealing? She was a noble woman, a person of dignity and reputation in London high society. Who was he? He was not even a being of this realm. How could he presume to threaten her and escape consequence?

And yet, she was more afraid of him than she'd ever been. He was the embodiment of death, and she realized her foolishness; it was definitely not prudent to cross a being of such nature. Kings and queens had all knocked on that door, beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves as well. She would die eventually in due course. The nature of humanity dictated it. Angelina kept her eyes on the book in her lap, The Count of Monte Cristo no longer holding any of her interest. In a moment, Grell was kneeling before her, his hands taking hers.

"I do not want anything to happen to you, Madame. I will do anything to protect you from an undesirable fate. That is why we need to be more careful." His thumbs massaged circles into the backs of her hands as he spoke.

Before she could say anything else, he had pulled her close, engaging her lips in a kiss, and she melted into it, allowing her mind to swiftly repress the recent conversation. She had nothing to fear, not even death his self.

In the weeks that followed, things returned to normal. Angelina had all but forgotten Grell's threat on her life. Whether it was due to her subconscious denial that it had ever happened, or because she was slowly losing control of her own sanity, it didn't matter. She loved the way that they were together, and she was comfortable with their situation.

On April 4th, another article appeared in the paper announcing the death of Emma Smith. Just as with Annie Millwood only a little over a month prior, she remained a footnote in the police blotter. On Grell's side of this situation, he hadn't noticed any suspicion being raised on his behalf. He had been off the clock at the time they'd killed her, and although he had again played a hand in the direct killing of the whore, this time he escaped blame. Supposedly Jane Newberry was receiving a pretty harsh reprimanding though.

Grell was a fool if he thought the higher ups wouldn't eventually see a pattern in the killings. They had all been in his district; he knew it would begin to make sense eventually. Perhaps he should just kill Madame now and be done with this whole thing. No, if he fell, so would she. He would not give her the gift or satisfaction of the easy way out.